Tu, toujours
by The Sisters Williams
Summary: England was just one of many... or so he thought. England/France.


-1 Arthur rubbed his tired eyes as the barkeep brought him another glass of whisky. "Thanks," he mumbled, but the sound was lost in the crowded tavern. It was a Friday night in November, and the little bar was full of locals celebrating a football victory, Arthur guessed. Normally he was quite a fan of any football, but tonight he wasn't in the mood. Instead, he kept to himself at the shadowy edge of the bar, managing to keep on his bar stool, but only just. Tonight, Arthur was drinking to forget.

_Ugh...why did I show up?_ Arthur berated himself, thinking back to that day's UN meeting. Seeing that blonde bastard again was just too painful...he should have known. And the way he smirked at him! As though none of it had meant anything to the nation. Their strange romance, if it could even be called that, came to such an awkward and unsatisfying close, at least to Arthur. He had thought that Francis would feel some of the pain that now tore at Arthur, but no. He even had the audacity to make a pass at Alfred, right in front of him. Of course Alfred had no idea, the self-involved, self-proclaimed 'hero', but Arthur had seen. But of course, with typical British stoicism, he had ignored the lewd Frenchman and continued on with the meeting, despite the persistent passes at his younger brother. Arthur had known that this was simply how Francis acted, had always known, but still, _it hurt._

"More, Mr. Kirkland?" The bartender's voice held a note of pity. Usually when the nation drank to excess, he only ended up making a fool of himself. Tonight, he was strangely morose.

"Please."

**

Arthur managed to pour himself into bed later that evening, hoping the great amount of alcohol consumed would grant him a dreamless, painless sleep. Watching the lights of London twinkle through his open window, he soon drifted off into a stupor.

_"Ah, L'Angleterre, you have no idea how long I've waited for you, for this." Francis leaned in closer, cupping England's face in his warm palm as the Frenchman grasped Arthur's trembling hand in his own. _

_ "Me...me too." Arthur stuttered out the damning words. How long had he repressed this feeling, calling France a pervert or wine-bastard? Truly, ever since he could remember, he'd felt a longing for this nation. The confident, smooth, impulsive nation, so unlike him and yet, so perfect for him. Though in history they had been rivals, their pasts had so intertwined that it was impossible to see an England without France. Now, against the night lights of Paris, he could finally admit to this feeling and embrace it fully. As well as Francis._

"No!" Arthur shot awake, feeling the room roll as he did so. Sweat made his sheets cling to him as he pitched forward, holding his head in his hands. Tears he had held in for weeks now began to fall silently. Despite his bravest attempts to forget, Arthur began to recall the morning after.

_Arthur rose with the sun. The light flooded through the large window, illuminating the plush bedroom he was now in. It reflected off of Francis' mane, making it appear gold in the dawn light. Reluctantly, Arthur began to dress. Just as he went to grab his left oxford, he heard stirring from the silk sheets behind him._

_ Francis stretched lazily, his skin glowing in the light. "L'Angleterre, where are you going at this hour? We can call for some petit dejeuner before you leave, no?" He cocked an eyebrow questioningly._

_ Arthur stood still in the shadows of the room. He had already begun to regret his decision the night before. This was Francis! He had been with countless nations, and if he had meant the sweet words he whispered in Arthur's ear last night, it was only because he simply saw Arthur as another conquest. No, he reflected, it was best to just cut his losses and leave before he could get seriously hurt. How long had he loved his southern neighbour? The last thing Arthur's carefully hidden heart could take was Francis admitting that this was nothing more than fun. With this in mind, Arthur spoke._

_ "I'm leaving, Francis." The Frenchman's sleepy eyes opened wide at this, first in disbelief, and then in another emotion Arthur couldn't quite pinpoint. "This was...fun, but I don't think we should repeat this...accident." Arthur's voice rang thick and cold in the room. His words hung in the air, heavy with resentment._

_ "But..but "L'Angleterre! L'Angleterre, wait! Arthur!" Francis stood abruptly, meaning to stop Arthur before he left. Arthur simply turned and left the room. He heard Francis sigh and go to wash up as he left his house. Arthur walked down the street, empty in the morning hour, and didn't stop walking until he was safely back at his hotel. It was only then, in the privacy of his room, that he allowed himself a bit of loss of control. Just a few tears, cried only in the shower, for his love of centuries._

Arthur began sobbing as he recalled Francis at the recent UN meeting. He had given Arthur no more than a nod and a curt "England" before taking his seat. Francis didn't so much as cast a glance his way the entire day. Francis was not naturally reserved as Arthur was. If Francis mourned their 'relationship', he would have shown it, Arthur was sure. Francis simply did not return Arthur's hidden feelings. His words were just that, words, and Arthur was right to turn away before his heart was seriously broken.

Not that it didn't feel that way now.

Arthur shakily stood up, and made his way out onto his balcony. From here he could see the busy London streets, and perhaps distract himself from his heartache. He stared at the streets below until it all turned into a yellow-orange haze.

A pebble hit him in the knee. "Ow!" Arthur started.

"L'Angleterre! Let me up!" To Arthur's disbelief, the blonde head of Francis Bonniface stared up at him. "It's cold out here!"

"Fran-Francis?" Arthur stuttered. Why was he here? He thought that all personal relations between them were finished. That could only mean more heartache from the Frenchman.

"_Oui, C'est moi_! L'Angl-Arthur, I have to speak with you."

Arthur slowly nodded, still feeling the effects of the whisky from before, and began his trek downstairs to unlock the door. Francis swept into the house and proceeded to make himself at hom on Arthur's chesterfield. Arthur stood in the doorframe, awaiting Francis' news.

Francis gestured at an empty spot beside him, but Arthur refused to move. Shrugging, Francis began to speak. Quietly, he began. "L'Angleterre, why did you leave me after that evening?" Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't thought Francis would have really remembered that evening, seeing as he had surely been with nations since then. "I..I was surprised you left. For _moi_, it was something special, _non_?"

"I didn't think it was a good idea to continue. Besides, you have your pick of nations. I wasn't...I'm not comfortable with being one among many." Arthur's heart pounded as he watched Francis take in the words. The Frenchman stood up abruptly and strode over to Arthur, grabbing his wrists. Fancis looked into his green eyes and spoke softly.

"_Mais non, _Arthur, you are not simply 'one among many'. Do you think I lied before? I've always wanted you. Only you."

Arthur was shocked. His mind was racing and he could feel his heart hammering away. However, the hesitation stopped when Francis pulled Arthur into a long, gentle kiss. "_Oui, _you feel the same way, _mon cher_?"

Arthur smiled, for the first time in weeks and for what felt like the first time ever. "_Oui_."


End file.
